Where I Find Peace
by T. Fowler
Summary: There's one thing Liz knows: Red isn't lying about to her about this. (Published at Ao3 under the name serafina20)


She doesn't see Luli when she crosses the lobby of the hotel Red is staying at, but Luli must have seen Liz, because Dembe doesn't bat an eye when he steps aside and lets her into Red's suite. There's no hesitation as he unlocks the door, no moment of suspicion. He knew she was coming and no words pass between them. Liz is granted instant access to Red's latest private lair.

The pressure behind her eyes builds at that. The hand that's been strangling her for weeks tightens around her throat. She can barely swallow past the tightness, but she ignores it. Denies its existence.

She's so good at denial.

"Lizzie. You look horrible."

She brushes a hand over her eyes and turns her head.

Red, impeccably attired, as always, in shirt, vest, and sharply pressed slacks, stands in the doorway that leads to an office. When she meets his eyes, an unreadable expression shutters across his face before smoothing into its usual implacability.

"Please. Sit." He waves a hand toward the couch.

Everything about him is grace and ease. Every movement like a dancer: smooth and elegant.

Liz, coiled tight so she doesn't fly apart, walks to the couch. Gingerly lowers herself onto it, arms at her side, hands clasped, neck stiff, back straight. The couch is soft. It welcomes her into the cushions, trying to beguile her to relax.

She remains rigid and still. Her eyes look sightlessly at the fireplace in front of her, almost feeling the warmth through the thick cocoon around her.

A few minutes—seconds, hours—pass before Red sits next to her. He takes one of her hands and pressed a warm mug into it.

"You haven't been sleeping," he says. "I take it Boston was not the relaxing getaway you'd hoped?"

She snorts. Lifts the mug to her mouth and takes a sip. The taste of warm milk and cinnamon and nutmeg and honey slide across her tongue and down her throat. She swallows and lowers the mug onto her leg. "I tried. I'm trying. Trying to pretend that everything is normal. That everything is fine. But I don't know who is in the bed with me. I don't know who I married.""

Red nods. "You could ask."

"He won't tell the truth. And I don't… Maybe I don't really want to know. I don't know." She takes another drink of the milk and turns to look at him. "When I met him, I though… I thought it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I thought that maybe I was due. For something good. After everything, I thought…" She won't cry. She thrusts her lower jaw out, tightening it. Drinks again, finishing off the milk. "Everything in my life has been lies. People who lie with the words. Whose bodies and reactions tell different stories than what they say. I've always had to dig for the truth. But Tom…"

Red's face is all warm sympathy and love as he says, "You thought Tom was simple. That his words matched what you could see."

A traitorous tear sneaks out into the corner of her eye. She wipes it away before it can make an escape. "Sometimes I thought it was too good to be true. I hate." She stops talking.

"You hate being right."

She can't look at him anymore. She looks down into the empty mug, at the spices scattered across the bottom, unreadable as tea leaves.

"Why are you here?"

Liz laughs. It's more hysterical than she'd like. "I'm sleeping with someone who might be the enemy. My colleagues at work don't trust me. Ressler constantly looks at me like I might grow another head. I can't trust… And then you." She looks back up at him. "I know I can't trust anything you say. It all comes out at a slant. Everything is half-truths. Half-truths when they are when they're not outright lies. But…" This time, some tears do escape. They rush over her bottom lashes, forced loose by her trembling body. "But there's this part that wants to trust you. That does trust you. Because you won't tell me the truth. But I know… everything about you tells me… it tells me that you won't hurt me."

He shakes his head. Moves closer, slowly, like approaching a wild animal. He puts his hand on her shoulder. Bends his head down and rests his forehead against hers. "I will never allow harm to come to you. From others or myself. You are safe here. With me."

The strangling hand releases her throat. The pressure behind her eyes eases. The tension that has held her body so inflexible immobile for so long breaks.

She closes her eyes and lets herself relax. Fall. As she knew he would, Red catches her. Moves so he is cradling her body against her, arms around her.

For the first time since Red walk into her life, Liz can let go. She can let the tears slide down her face. She can trust the hand stroking her hair, the soft shushes against her head. She can let herself relax and breathe and be.

And there, cradled in the arms of one of the FBI's most wanted criminals, Liz finds peace.


End file.
